“But . . . he is an earl.” So far above her.
The dowager’s expression softened. “We never know where love may grow. I was the third daughter of a viscount, no one to speak of, and certainly not worthy of a duke. But my dear, I knew it was meant to be the first time Wessex asked me to dance. Do not be afraid to seize happiness when you find it.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said softly.
Heart soaring, she left. It wasn’t quite a mother’s blessing, but the dowager’s words had been kind and reassuring. It gave her hope. And confidence.
Somehow Wes endured dinner and the blessedly brief round of port among the gentlemen. Every man seemed keen to rejoin the ladies, and when they entered the ballroom Miss Penworth was already seated at the pianoforte.
He tried to disguise his interest in Viola. She sat next to Lady Sophronia, watching as the other guests laughed and danced. Wes asked Lady Alexandra to partner him first, and then Lady Serena. Both were excellent dancers, but he barely registered a moment of it. He was only biding his time.
After two exuberant airs, someone called out to Miss Penworth to play a more sedate country dance so they might catch their breath. Wes seized his chance and approached the settee.
“May I have this dance, ma’am?”
Lady Sophronia’s eyes gleamed as she looked him up and down. “If I would grant anyone a dance, it would be you, Winterton. But I haven’t danced since Frederick, my fourth fiancé. He was the finest dancer, and spoiled me for every other partner.”
Wes grinned and turned to Viola. “I’m sure I could never live up to him. Perhaps Mrs. Cavendish will step out with me, then?”
“Go on, Viola,” said Sophronia, wonderful woman. “Dance with the man.”
She took his hand, and Wes felt a charge leap up his arm. She gave him a smile, and it was as though the sun had come out. They took their places and he barely remembered what steps to do.
There was no real chance of conversation. Wes was content to gaze at her when they separated. With her dark hair piled up on top of her head and her green eyes alight with happiness, she was entrancing. Every time they clasped hands, her gaze met his, warm and deep and smiling, and he could hardly breathe from how much he wanted her.
When the dance finally ended, he was both relieved and annoyed. Relieved because it ended the torment of watching her without being able to speak to her. Annoyed because now he didn’t even have an excuse to watch her. She moved among the guests with quiet grace, suggesting the next dance, helping turn the pages for Miss Penworth, graciously accepting Lord Gosling’s invitation to dance. Wes’s gaze followed her helplessly around the room, like a smitten boy’s. Everything seemed right when she was around—not only because she had a way of putting everyone at ease, not only because her good cheer never wavered, but because she was the most sensible person Wes had ever met.
After a decade of traveling around the world, Wes had a deep appreciation for people who were able to get things done without fuss or drama. Viola seemed to think of everything and took care of problems before they even happened. The one lapse, Lady Alexandra’s stolen kiss with Justin, had happened because he lured her away from the party. Otherwise . . . every arrangement had been pitch perfect. He could tell Lady Serena was somewhat overwhelmed by the demands of being hostess, and Lady Sophronia simply didn’t care to mind the details. It was Viola who recognized that Miss Penworth’s fingers were growing tired, that Lady Sophronia had nodded once too often, that Lady Bridget was drooping in her chair, and murmured a word in Lady Serena’s ear that it was time to end the evening.
Back in his room after everyone had gaily bid the others Happy Christmas and good night—for it was Christmas Eve—he stared into the fire crackling in his hearth, unable to sleep. Was she still working, arranging things for everyone tomorrow? After which she would quietly withdraw into the background, when she deserved to be celebrated as the mastermind of the entire party. Was she enjoying a little sip of port, her mouth rosy and shiny from the wine as she contemplated her work? Had anyone told her how invaluable she was, or how thankful they were she was there?
It was beginning to bother Wes that she was neither hostess nor guest, neither family nor servant, yet everything seemed to rest on her shoulders. Someone ought to thank her, and show appreciation for her unfailing good humor, grace, and charm. Someone ought to make sure she had a happy Christmas, when she had done so much to make it happy for the rest of them.
He wanted her to feel treasured and appreciated. Not only for the way she saw to everyone else’s comfort and amusement, but for the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed. For the way she took everything with such good humor and grace. And for the starry look in her eyes when she was well kissed.
He jumped up from the chair and strode to the wardrobe. After a minute of rummaging, he found what he sought. It wasn’t much, but he thought she might understand.
His heartbeat seemed to boom in his ears as he made his way through the quiet castle. It was late, nearing midnight. It was almost Christmas Day. When he reached her door, he tapped very lightly and held his breath, waiting.
The first thought through his brain when she opened the door was that her hair was down. It reached below her shoulders, one long curl lying on her breast. Wes’s eyes fixed on that curl, on that plump swell of flesh, and his
